Ozzy tilted his head as the first wave of fire lit the sky—streams of Ryun blasts, flechette rounds, and plasma bolts streaking toward him in a rainbow of death.

"Finally I get to show off," he said, almost wistful. His grin widened, and he tapped the edge of his blindfold. "Can't take this off. Auntie would tan my hide."

The barrage came closer.

And Ozzy laughed.

He walked into it, body loose, almost lazy. A bolt tore through the air toward his chest—he leaned an inch to the left, the energy tearing past so close it singed a lock of his dread. A spray of glowing bullets whined across his torso—one smooth sway of his hips, and they spiraled harmlessly past him.

"Ohhh, Ryun is so random," he crooned, spinning his sword into a lazy circle. The blade shimmered, tracing loops of white and black that swallowed stray blasts heading toward the ship. His boots tapped invisible rhythm into the sky as he skipped between beams.

And then—he started singing.

"London Bridge is falling down… falling down… falling down…"

His voice rolled, bright and taunting. Plasma streaked at his head—he ducked, letting it sizzle through the space where his skull had been a moment before. He twirled midair, letting momentum carry him into a backflip. The hem of his white robe flicked against one bullet trail, leaving sparks dancing.

"…London Bridge is falling down… my fair laaaaddyyy!"

A barrage surged from twenty ships at once, a crossfire meant to swallow him whole. Ozzy spun, twirled his blade, and the runes along its edge pulsed—thrum! A spiral of Ryun flared from his body, catching the bullets and twisting them into a spray of harmless light. He stepped through the brilliance like a dancer through falling confetti.

"Hahaha! Oh, this is fun!"

The sky burned with intent meant to kill him, and yet he treated it like a stage. His laughter was louder than the guns, his song carried clearer than the explosions.

And every watching enemy felt the same pit form in their gut.

Ozzy's voice carried, smooth and theatrical:

"Ok ladies and gentlemen. Creatures of all ages… I have decided how to end this fun game."

His grin widened, teeth flashing under the blindfold's shadow. The tip of his sword dipped, and the 40 ships froze mid-charge. Crew scrambled at their consoles, captains shouted in panic, but time itself seemed to slow.

He raised his blade high, and the temperature dropped.

"But now—it's time to part your souls to the Oversoul, under the banner of the Occulted Moon."

He blew his breath and whispered.

{Hushed Reaper Symphony}

They appeared.

Silent, skeletal figures robed in night, drifting into being as if painted directly onto the stars. Each clutched a sword longer than reason, its edge shimmering with annihilation. They moved in concert.

The crews screamed. Some fired frantically, their shots dissolving into smoke as the first Reaper lifted its blade and fell. Defenses shattered like glass. Shields folded inward, folding space into nothingness.

Ozzy stepped forward, his sword held like a conductor's baton. With each flick of his wrist, the Reapers slashed, carving ships into hollow carcasses. With each sweep of his arm, another squadron evaporated, erased like chalk under a tide.

He hummed softly over their screams, almost inaudible.

"…falling down, falling down, falling down…"

Dozens of ships gone in moments. The last captains shrieked orders, desperate retreats, but Ozzy only smiled. His final flourish was a sweeping arc, his sword carving a circle through the sky.

The Reapers crossed their blades, and white-black Ryun erupted outward in a wave a mile wide.

Ships crumbled. Fleets splintered. Debris scattered across Curtenail's scarred skies.

Nameless. Unimportant. Forgotten—save for the truth that at least they had fallen beneath the Occulted Moon.

Ozzy bowed, his white cape blazing against the shockwave, laughter trailing like thunder.

The curtain had closed.

Caroline and Sšurtinaui blinked in unison, the carnage outside still echoing in their minds. Sšurtinaui tilted her head toward Caroline, searching for some kind of explanation. Caroline only gave her a sheepish shrug and the look that said it all: yeah… I didn't know he was that strong either.

Jack's jaw tightened, his fist clenched white-knuckle around the popsicle stick he hadn't even realized he was still holding. His glare followed Ozzy's figure across the sky, a storm brewing in his grey eyes.

North, on the other hand, leaned back with a lazy grin, arms crossed.

"Well, damn. That was awesome."

Jack rolled his eyes so hard it was audible.

Tabia's voice cut sharp through the lingering silence.

"You've had your moment, Captain. Now return. More ships will be drawn to your little… concert."

From the sky, Ozzy spun on his heel like a showman taking his final bow.

"OoooooooohhhhhhKKKKKK!!!" he bellowed, voice booming as he exaggerated every syllable. With a ridiculous little skip, he floated back toward the ship, sword slung across his shoulder like a prop instead of a weapon that had just orchestrated a massacre.

North chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. So far, these Moon people weren't half bad. Unhinged, maybe—but not bad

After a scolding from Tabia and a half-hearted apology from Ozzy, the ship's dynamic shifted into something resembling rhythm. Caroline took Sšurtinaui on a tour, eager to show off every deck and corridor. North and Ozzy disappeared into another room—laughing already, setting up their endless game of Jenga. Tabia busied herself with her duties, eyes watchful, voice sharp. Tinsurnae still lay asleep, her aura flickering faintly as she fought to counter death's hold.

Jack, though, drifted away. He ended up on the balcony, leaning against the cold railing, eyes fixed on the sky. Black clouds rolled past slowly, far too slowly for his liking.

This was stupid.

He clenched his jaw.

Why wait? Why sit around like cowards when they had the advantage? They knew the enemies. They knew the battlefield. And yet here they were, wasting time—helping Magjesti with her useless side quest, playing house with these moon idiots and eating waffles… even if they were good, acting like this was anything but a blood match.

He didn't care about side quests. He cared about winning.

Winning meant advancement. Winning meant recognition. Winning meant her.

The thought of her—the Intermediate Ranker who had left him behind—ignited something ugly in his chest. This event was supposed to be his shortcut, his fast pass. The favor, the fame, the leap it would give him in the Foundation… it was supposed to close the distance between them.

But another truth gnawed at him.

The strong weren't supposed to stack up like this. Too many of them. North. Ozzy. Even that Calmbrand bastard. They didn't just outmatch him—they bypassed him, as if his abilities meant nothing. And that was his one thing. His power? Even Intermediate Rankers had acknowledged it before. But now? Now it was him staring at their backs, fighting to keep up.

And North—damn him.

Handsome, talented, smug bastard. All the spotlight bent toward him. Every laugh, every glance, every hint of respect. Women fawned, men deferred. He carried himself like the protagonist in a story Jack wasn't even allowed to headline.

But no. That wasn't how it was supposed to be.

V had told him the truth. V had told him he was special.

If the others couldn't see that—if they insisted on treating him like an extra in their play—then they were in for a rude awakening.

Jack's fingers tightened on the railing until his knuckles whitened, a smile creeping unbidden onto his lips.

———

Caroline and Sšurtinaui sat in the lounge, the low hum of the ship steady beneath their feet. Crew members bustled past them—Occulted Moon attendants with their strange uniforms and stranger manners—but here, in this corner, there was a rare sense of calm.

Sšurtinaui let out a long sigh, leaning back into the plush seat. A ridiculous cup with a spiraled silly straw sat in her hands, filled with steaming tea. She sipped, eyes half-lidded, the absurdity of the vessel's hospitality finally sinking in.

"…You know," she murmured, lowering the cup, "if you told me two weeks ago that I'd be drinking tea through a child's toy straw while flying through Curtenail on a cult's ship, I'd have laughed in your face."

Caroline, sprawled beside her with her legs lazily draped over the seat, chuckled. "You'd have laughed? I did laugh. And then I screamed. And then I laughed again." She flicked one of the straws poking out of a nearby drink dispenser. "These people are so weird. Who even puts silly straws on a warship?"

Sšurtinaui smiled despite herself. "I think I like it. Makes me forget, just for a moment… how close we all came."

Caroline tilted her head, studying her. "Yeah. Things got crazy. And they're gonna get crazier." Her ears twitched as she glanced toward the corridor where Ozzy's voice was faintly booming, probably trying to rope North into another round of Jenga. "But… right now? It's kinda nice. Just sitting. Breathing."

The elf nodded slowly, her hair catching the soft glow of the lounge lights. "I almost forgot what this felt like. Peace. Even if it's just an illusion."

Caroline grinned and stretched, her tails curling lazily. "Illusion or not… I'm taking it. We deserve at least one quiet moment. Before the next explosion."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

They clinked their cups together with mock ceremony, sipping again through the silly straws like kids pretending to toast at a banquet.

For the first time in a long while, they let themselves laugh.

"Hi, Magjesti."

The calm voice drifted from behind them. Both Caroline and Sšurtinaui turned, and standing in the doorway was a young man with brown skin and red hair peeking out from beneath a blue-and-white wrap. His eyes remained closed, but his bearing was sharp, his blue and white attire marked with the sigil of the Occulted Moon stitched neatly on the right breast.

Caroline's cheeks flushed immediately. "Oh—oh—hey, Mekiea."

Sšurtinaui arched a pale brow, amused. She hadn't seen Caroline flustered often. She watched the woman fuss with her hair like she'd been caught mid-performance.

Mekiea inclined his head politely. "Ah, my apologies—I didn't notice you. You must be Sšurtinaui. Magjesti has spoken of you often."

Sšurtinaui smiled, savoring the Carolines growing embarrassment. "She tends to hold me in high regard."

Caroline shot upright, stammering. "It was just me talking about your condition! Don't twist it!"

The elf chuckled softly. "Nice to meet you, Mekiea. Any friend of Magjesti is a friend of mine."

He returned the nod. "That's good to hear. Though I hope you won't mind—I came to steal her away for a time."

Caroline cleared her throat and straightened her cloak.

"It's fine. I'm tired anyway. Thanks for getting her out of my hair."

Caroline blinked and tilted her head at Sšurtinaui.

Sšurtinaui then broke into another chuckle. "By all means. Though, I'm curious what the two of you are sneaking off to do."

Before Caroline could blurt anything, Mekiea answered smoothly: "I'm teaching her my language. We meet after my duties are finished each day."

Sšurtinaui nearly spilled her tea laughing. Caroline immediately pulled up her screen, pretending to scroll like she hadn't just been caught red-handed.

"Language lessons, hm? That explains… a lot. Well," Sšurtinaui said, waving them off, "don't let me keep you. Since you're on a schedule."

"Thank you," Mekiea replied, bowing slightly. "I'll make it up to you."

"No need."

Caroline leaned down and hugged Sšurtinaui tightly before all but marching out, Mekiea already reciting lines of his tongue as she kept pace. The elf watched them disappear down the corridor, shaking her head with a smile. Caroline, needing help with language—what a joke. But it was… cute.

Sšurtinaui leaned back, closing her eyes as the hum of the ship settled around her. The tea was good, the chair was comfortable, and the thought of grilling her companion later filled her with quiet amusement.

The others had their "endeavors," their distractions. Three days of rest, of laughter, of anything but the objective. Perhaps it was foolish. Perhaps dangerous. But for now, she would let it be. For now, she would enjoy this quiet lull.

————

"Jenga!" Ozzy roared as the tower collapsed in a clatter of wood. He threw his arms into the air like he'd just claimed a kingdom. "I win again!" His laughter boomed across the room.

North snorted, shaking his head. Of course Jenga would give me problems. Every time he tried to place a block, his hands betrayed him, knocking the tower to ruin. Precision—anything that demanded the careful, patient touch—seemed to reject him these days. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose.

Being around Ozzy was… weird. The guy was definitely an Outlander—his mannerisms, his odd slang, the way he carried himself all screamed it. And yet he wasn't just surviving in Requiem. He was thriving.

Technically, North had already crossed that line himself—dragged into this world, adapted, and endured—but this felt different. Ozzy wasn't clawing at the edges. He wasn't barely hanging on. He belonged.

North studied him as the man swept the blocks back into a pile, humming some tune under his breath, already setting up for the next round. Suspicious, really. Not because Ozzy had done anything wrong—no, the opposite. He was too open. Too eager to laugh, too eager to share. In a realm where paranoia kept you alive, here was a man skipping into battle and celebrating like the game was the point.

And yet… North couldn't deny the pull. Hanging out with Ozzy was like hanging out with Marcus and the gang back home—hours wasted over stupid games, arguments about rules that didn't matter, laughter that carried into the night after bar crawls.

He sighed, rubbing his temple. Nothing against his current group. Caroline, Tinsurnae, Sšurtinaui… even Jack, to some extent. He cared for them. He realized just how much when the elf nearly died. The ache in his chest, the instinct to protect them—it had been real, sharper than he wanted to admit.

But still…

He watched Ozzy slam another block into place, grinning like a kid.

"What's going on in that snow globe of yours?"

North raised a brow. "Pretty sure it's head or noggin or any other word than snow globe." He chuckled, shaking his head.

"Snow globe," Ozzy said matter-of-factly, sliding a Jenga block into place. "'Cause it's all fluffy and shaken in there."

North straightened. His smirk slipped. Was this guy in my head?

Ozzy leaned back, hands raised in mock surrender. "Oh, don't get all scary now. HR will have my basket."

North let out a short laugh, tension bleeding from his shoulders. "Sorry. Gotta be cautious out here."

"Sure." Ozzy's smile never wavered. He plucked another block, slid it free with a surgeon's grace, and stacked it on top. "I'm just good at reading people and their vibe. Always have been. Well—" he tilted his head, "—I guess I've always been good at reading auras, too. Even back on Earth."

North froze, eyes narrowing. "Thought my aura was unreadable."

"Ha. Your aura, maybe. But your face and your little twitches?" Ozzy tapped his temple with one finger. "Those ain't invisible. You keep watching me. Wondering how I tick."

North didn't deny it. He just stared, jaw tight, waiting. What's this guy getting at?

Ozzy only smiled wider, setting another block down with a click. "It's love."

"…Love?"

"Love." His tone was casual, but there was a edge to it. "Love of the game. Love of who I am. This wacky universe respects people who love themselves. Doesn't always work out for them—but that's where luck and work come in." He chuckled like he'd just told a joke no one else got.

North tilted his head. "What?"

Ozzy's eyes gleamed under the fold of his blind. "Nothing. Just thought of a penguin in a scarf."

North blinked.

"Do you love anyone?"

North blinked. "…Not in the romantic sense."

"Do you love yourself?"

Silence.

Ozzy hummed. "Mmm. That's the difference between us."

"It's complicated."

"Oh, I bet." Ozzy grinned, his hands steady over the Jenga tower. "You're a Significant Being from an Absolute Being. I don't even know what that means, but it sounds crazy."

North laughed, shaking his head. "From my side, bro, you're crazy."

"Good! The sane ones don't last long."

With that, Ozzy did some impossible flick of his fingers, sliding a block free and setting it atop the tower. Not a wobble. Not a shift. North's eyes tracked every motion, every potential collapse, and still it didn't fall.

"How'd you do that?"

"I told you—love."

"Don't turn this into a random lesson, man."

"I'm not. I'm answering your question. Like, hey—what time is it? You'd say twelve-thirty. Or what day is it? Wednesday. Same deal."

"You're talking in riddles!" North snapped, aura flaring. "What does love have to do with anything?"

"You asked."

"I didn't! What the hell are you talking about?" He stood, fire crackling in his voice, heat in his veins.

Ozzy didn't so much as twitch. "You did." His blindfold tilted toward North. "It's like you told the beautiful elf—don't wear your emotions on your sleeve if you want to shut others out. Seems like a cry for help."

North froze, his breath caught in his throat.

The two of them stared across the table—one with burning eyes, the other behind a fold of cloth and a grin that never broke.

Finally, Ozzy gestured to the tower. "It's your turn. You gonna play?"

North exhaled, forcing the heat back down. He lowered himself into his chair, muttering, "I'm cool."

"Aww. You don't love the game."

"It's not that. Just had my attitude soured." He stood again, intent on leaving.

"You jumped in the water and drowned."

North stopped dead, his shoulders stiff. "Stop talking like you know me."

"I know someone who's not happy with themselves is standing in front of me." Ozzy's grin tilted. "A lot of changes… same results. And insanity?" He tapped his blindfold lightly. "That's something I know very well."

North sighed, running a hand down his face. Running away won't help. Be a man, god damnit. He dropped back into his seat.

Ozzy didn't so much as pause. He slid another block.

"Ok, wise sage of the crazies," North muttered. "What does love have to do with anything?"

Ozzy tilted his head. "Everything."

North arched a brow.

"Someone loved warmth so much," Ozzy said, his hands moving with uncanny precision, "they found fire. Someone loved food so much, they started recipes. Someone loved the sky so much, they carved wings for planes. Of course here that's a bit different….. Someone also loved fighting so much, they made martial arts. Someone loved survival so much, they made medicine. And life?" He chuckled. "No one ever became great at it because they hated it. They loved it. The rush, the rhythm, the clarity it brought."

North's eyes narrowed.

"You can't learn fully unless you love something," Ozzy went on, stacking the block with almost lazy calm. "Maybe love's just a chemical reaction. Maybe it's an astral reaction. Doesn't matter. All things advance, all things progress, all things adapt—because of love."

Ozzy leaned back, grin wide. "In plain terms… the love of the game."

The tower collapsed in a clatter of wood.

"JENGA!" he roared, throwing his arms up like he'd just toppled an empire.

North just stared.

"Yeah," North said, scowling. "But people loved peace and still made war. People loved control and built cages. Love doesn't mean progress—it just means obsession."

Ozzy grinned, the Jenga tower ruins scattered between them. "And those people don't last long."

North tilted his head. "What?"

"They only had one thing fueling them," Ozzy said, twirling a block in his fingers. "Peace without war, control without chaos—it's hollow. To have love, you must have hate woven in there too. Balance. Depth. Love without the possibility of losing it isn't love at all. And that's why love always lets in a little insanity."

North leaned forward. "How does that even make sense?"

Ozzy clacked the block down like a gavel. "Knowing the outcome, but still doing the same thing anyway. That's the definition of insanity."

The words hit harder than they should've. North froze, aura flickering faint. Knowing the outcome and doing the same thing… that's basically all I've been doing. A shiver traced down his spine. Wasn't that Jafar's story? The shadow of inevitability catching up to him, no matter how much he fought it?

He didn't like where that thought went.

Ozzy studied him quietly, the blindfold not hiding how sharp his attention felt. Finally, the captain tilted his head. "Just because the outcome is the same doesn't mean the journey there is, North."

North's gaze snapped up.

Ozzy smiled. "Not sayin' I know what's on your mind, but I figured it might help."

North exhaled, slow. "Sorta does…"

"I am a genius," Ozzy declared with exaggerated pride. He leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head. Then his grin turned sly.

"Now… tell me, North." His voice softened, almost conspiratorial. "Is there someone you love?"

"Why do you keep asking that?"

Ozzy leaned forward, grin wide. "Because that's the juicy stuff everyone wants to know!"

North sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Hahaha! What is this conversation I'm having?" he muttered. "This is ridiculous."

"It's that elf, isn't it?" Ozzy said, propping his elbow on the table like he was whispering gossip.

North shook his head. "Hmm. No. I have love for her, yeah. Same for Mag… but that one missed its stop. It'd be weird now."

"What about the sleeping girl?"

North shot him a flat look. "You gotta watch how you say stuff. But… that one's another hard-to-explain one. Still important to me."

Ozzy's smile sharpened. "But there is someone."

"Stop reading me, bro!" North stood up, laughing to push off the weight in his chest. "Life's complicated enough without you digging around in it."

Ozzy leaned back, folding his arms. "Fair enough."

North stretched, faking a yawn. "Well, imma take a nap."

Ozzy smiled like he knew. "Of course. Sorry for messing with your head, ol' chap. Hope it didn't—"

"We're cool," North cut him off. "I'm glad you're not just a yes man. I can't be mad at people speaking up to me. Even if it's random… and slightly annoying." He jabbed a finger at him. "A warning next time you drop something like this, though."

Ozzy's grin widened. "We can make a safe word."

"Aright, man. I'll see you later," North said, shaking his head as he walked off.

The captain chuckled softly to himself. "It's fine. I'll think of one by our next visit!"

A few moments later, another presence entered the room.

"Oh, Tabia," Ozzy grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Were you waiting for the men to be done talking? That's such an outdated custom."

Her crimson eyes narrowed. "Must be one of your old Earth customs. My people never cared for gender roles. Those fit for the task do it. Besides, I just happened to finish everything and—"

"You came to see me! Awww, you know you're my favorite." He motioned to the now-empty seat across from him. "Sit and play."

Tabia exhaled a weary sigh but lowered herself into the chair. She began shifting the wooden blocks without hesitation, her tone clipped and professional. "Ship morale is stable. The crew's adapting well. As for our position, we're between three fleet routes—most already know we've aligned with the Blood Prince."

Ozzy nodded, setting a block carefully on top of the tower. "A cracked shell can still protect the yolk."

Tabia actually chuckled. "You and your sayings…" Then her gaze sharpened. "What did you say to him? I felt his aura flare. The prince isn't easily rattled from what I've seen."

He shrugged. "The usual. I spoke what I noticed."

Her eyes narrowed further. "Don't chase him away. Our goddess believes aligning with him is key to the Occulted Moon's survival."

"I know that, my little T." His grin softened, less mockery, more sincerity. "But I think being honest with him is better. Besides… I like him."

Tabia shifted another block, sliding it free with calm precision. "I know you do."

"Oh, you know me so well."

"There are only five people you've ever played Jenga with," she said without looking up. "Now there are six."

Ozzy smirked. "Looks like North isn't the only one showing his emotions so openly."

Tabia glanced up from the tower. "What was the topic?"

"Love."

She hummed, thoughtful, moving another piece.

"It's alright," Ozzy said, smile fading just slightly. "I won't overspill on you. But I hope it ignited something."

Her crimson eyes narrowed. "Why would you say that?"

For once, his tone dropped the playful edge. "Because what Mi'Lerntra wants will collapse before she can shape it, unless something sparks in him."

Tabia froze mid-move, realization dawning.

"He jumped into the water and caused ripples… but now those ripples are slowing."

She looked up at Ozzy.

Ozzy nodded, grin gone. "The water of stagnation is death for the powerful."

"And if he doesn't find a grip on who and what he is…"

Ozzy's blindfold tilted toward the ceiling, his voice soft but certain. "He'll die—and all of this will be for nothing."

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